A Picture of Draco Malfoy
by WinterStorrm
Summary: Harry's a successful portrait artist and he's having trouble with his latest commission.


**Title:** A Picture of Draco Malfoy  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Harry/Draco  
><strong>Rating: <strong>PG-13  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>4,500  
><strong>Warnings (Highlight to view):<strong> *None*  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>The characters depicted herein belong JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this endeavour.  
><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Written for the lovely sassy_cissa.  
>Thanks to moonlite_tryst for the beta.<br>Written for hd_erised fest 2013.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Harry's a successful portrait artist and he's having trouble with his latest commission.

"Harry, come on, I know you're in there!" The knocking recommenced. Harry closed his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. Ginny was the most annoyingly persistent person he knew.

He yanked open his studio door. "I'm busy!" he huffed, glaring at her with what he hoped was his best 'fuck off and leave me alone' vibe. "What is it now?"

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, her pregnant belly pushing out towards Harry as though it, too, was accusing him of something. "What is _with_ you at the moment?" she grumbled, looking him up and down with a frown. Obviously she didn't expect an answer to her question because she continued, "Narcissa's just Floo called. Again. She wants to know what's going on with the portrait."

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily by way of delaying his answer. "It's nearly done; I just need a couple more days. Tell her—Tell her it will be completed by Friday."

"Why can't you tell her?" Ginny raised an eyebrow, but she was already backing away. "Alright, I'll tell her, but I want you to join me for dinner tonight, Harry—I want to see you eat with my own eyes."

"Okay fine, I'll have dinner," Harry agreed, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the door as he backed into his studio and prepared to shut the world out again. As he closed the door he heard Ginny mutter something that sounded like 'boys' and his lips twitched against his will. Ginny had grown up with six brothers and if anyone knew what boys were like it was her.

He leant back against the door and closed his eyes. Ginny was right, something was _with_ him. He'd lost his damned mind, that was what!

"The She-Weasel is growing on me," Draco Malfoy drawled from the far side of the room, his words tensing up Harry's insides and forcing his eyes open.

"Shut up," he replied, exhaustion keeping the conviction from his words. "It's not too late for me to use you as kindling, you know." He pushed back from the door and walked over to the other side of his studio where Draco lounged, head propped against the plush velvet cushions on a brocade chaise that formed the background of his portrait, his long limbs stretched out before him, expensively clad feet resting against the matching cushions at the other end.

"You wouldn't dare," Draco scoffed, crossing his ankles and smirking up at Harry. "You love me too much."

"Don't flatter yourself," Harry retorted as he reached up for the sheet that rested across the top of the easel and pulled it down over the canvas, covering up the portrait version of Draco that had been created by his own hand these last few weeks. He felt a flicker of satisfaction as Draco's smug expression fell before the sheet blocked him from Harry's view.

"Potter, you can't hide from this forever! We need to talk about this." Draco's voice found its way out from behind the camouflage, and Harry could tell he was trying to sound confident, but he could hear the uncertainty there. One thing that had surprised Harry the most about Draco as he'd got to know him over these last few years was just how insecure he actually was—not that he'd ever admit to it. An almost inaudible whisper followed, "Salazar, remind me what I— I must be insane—Potter!"

Harry waved a weary hand at the portrait and said, "Silencio!" before retreating to the ragged old corduroy sofa in the far corner of the room and collapsing onto it in a parody of the pose Draco had adopted in the portrait. He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

The portrait version of Draco was right, of course he was, it was Draco after all—Harry was in love with him, had been for some time now and since _that night_ a couple of days ago the thought of seeing Draco in person became insufferable.

::::

"You're not going back up to that studio until you tell me what's going on," Ginny stated as she placed a plate piled high with carbohydrates in front of him and sat back in the chair opposite to him. She picked up her fork but her attention was fixed on Harry.

Harry picked up his own fork and speared a carrot. "When's Neville coming back again?" He shot Ginny a glare and gave himself a mouthful of carrot. The way Ginny behaved with him sometimes felt as though he was the fool who had married her, not Neville.

Ginny poked out her tongue and didn't reply. Neville was somewhere in South America, a rare plant gathering trip that had been booked long before they'd found out Ginny was expecting. Neville had tried to back out of the trip once they realised that Ginny would be nearly nine months pregnant by the time he returned, and had only agreed to go when Ginny had promised to move in with Harry whilst he was away so that if anything happened someone would be there with her. Molly had been less than pleased; she'd been put out that her daughter hadn't chosen to move back into the Burrow instead. Harry hadn't minded; he'd rather thought that the company would be nice. That had been _before_.

Before he'd started work on this latest commission. It wasn't as though Draco Malfoy had not been in Harry's life since he was eleven years old in some form, and that they hadn't become firm friends in recent years. So what if he was in love with him? The real Draco needn't ever know, couldn't ever know.

"Well, are you going to tell me what's bugging you, or am I going to have to guess for myself?" Ginny asked finally, just as Harry was starting to relax and swallow down some food—it was nice, he was sure, it was just that it tasted like cardboard to him at the moment.

Putting down his fork he levelled his gaze at Ginny. "Draco," he said and saw the understanding wind its way into her brown eyes.

"If you'd just tell him how you feel," she said. "Sometimes, Harry, the way I catch him looking at you—"

"I can't!" Harry interrupted. "He doesn't…feel that way about me. I'm in the friend zone and besides—"

"Rubbish. Tell him."

"He knows how I feel—I mean, portrait-Draco knows!" Harry blurted, saying the words at last and feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "The other night at the Leaky, Draco brought someone. I drank a little more than I intended to, slipped out the side door when no one was looking and when I got home I went up my studio and there was portrait-Draco asleep on his chaise. I decided that it would be a good idea to tell him how often I thought about his arse and how it wasn't fair that he never looked at me that way…and I didn't even notice that he'd woken up and had heard pretty much every word I'd said."

Draco had been staring at him with shocked eyes, his cheeks flushed and his hand over his mouth like he was about to vomit. Harry had fled and avoided his studio for the following two days, only he'd had no choice other than to return to the painting because there were a few finishing touches required to the scene outside the window. He'd found out that day that _Silencio _worked well on portraits.

"How can I give that portrait to Narcissa now? Draco can't ever find out—"

"Oh, that is a problem," Ginny said softly. "Looks like you're going to have to _tell him how you feel_ before the portrait spills the beans. You might be surprised at the outcome."

Harry sighed and pushed his dinner plate away, any appetite he might have had gone. It was more than a problem; it was a catastrophe. Starting the portrait again was impossible—it wasn't as simple as just painting a new portrait—the real Draco would have to be present for Harry to suffuse the painting with the magic necessary to create an accurate time-stamped version of Draco to reside in the portrait. Asking him to come back to sit again would open up a whole new problem in itself. The only control he had of the whole situation was that he hadn't performed the spell to 'release' the subject of the portrait, meaning he was sealed inside that portrait and no one could come in or out until Harry decided otherwise.

If only it was possible to Obliviate portraits.

Ginny was right. Portrait-Draco was right. He was going to have to tell the real Draco how he felt about him before the two could meet. At least he could try to play it down—thank Merlin he'd never mentioned the 'in love' part of it all.

He was screwed.

::::

The history books famously knew they hadn't been friends when they were younger, but only Harry knew now how gutted Draco had been when he'd rejected his friendship all those years ago. Draco knew how different it might have been if only he'd approached it differently. Just the same, they'd both agreed that the past was the past and if it had fallen differently they couldn't be sure that they would now be living in a Voldemort free world.

It had been Harry's 25th birthday when he'd seen Draco again for the first time since the trials that had sent Lucius Malfoy to Azkaban and Draco and his mother out of the country. Draco had been at Harry's not-quite-'surprise'-party-because-Ron-had-spilled-the-beans as Hermione's plus one whilst Blaise was away on business, and _that_ had been the real surprise of the evening.

"We hired him for a shoot at IW," Hermione had explained as both she and Harry had watched Draco making awkward small talk with a drunken George. "We were lucky to get him. The Muggles keep him busy. They love him." Hermione, instead of following a career at the Ministry, had gone into partnership with Fleur and had set up a monthly magazine aimed at witches who wanted more than fashion and gossip called_Independent Witch_. It had been a resounding success.

Harry had been so mesmerised by the changes in Draco he'd only registered what Hermione had said long moments later. "What do you mean—Muggles love him? Where's he been all these years?" Harry hadn't heard a single rumour about Malfoy since he'd left the country. Sometimes he'd wonder what had become of him, but he'd never let himself dwell on it. He'd always felt more than a little guilty when it came to Draco and dwelling on it was bad.

Hermione laughed and slipped her hand through the crook of Harry's arm, leading him over to where Malfoy stood, teasing him as they walked, "Oh, Harry, you really do spend too much time with your paintbrush. Draco's a model now. He was 'spotted' in New York when he moved there with his mother and he's modelled for Calvin Klein jeans and—"

"Who's Calvin Klein?"

Cool grey eyes had landed on Harry as he blurted his question and wow, when had Malfoy become so gorgeous? Said eyes then proceeded to give Harry the once over before he said, "Really, Potter, and I thought you were raised by Muggles. I suggest you pay more attention to the clothes you wear in the future. Your jeans are Calvin's."

"No, they're— Oh, right, he's a fashion designer, then." Harry felt his face suffuse with colour. "I don't pay that much attention to fashion, wizard or Muggle."

"It's so reassuring that some things never change," Draco replied as his eyes met Harry's and stayed there.

Harry felt his temper rise until he saw the warm amusement in Draco's eyes and found himself smiling as he replied, "Well, you certainly _have _changed. You look really well, Malfoy. It's…good to see that."

Draco didn't manage to mask his surprise in time, allowing Harry to see a brief flash of expression before his features neutralised. "I never thought I'd say this, Potter, but it's good to see you, too." He'd held out his hand and Harry had taken it without a second thought.

That had been over five months ago and it was nearing Christmas. In the intervening time Harry and Draco had seen quite a bit of one another. At first Blaise would bring Draco along to their weekly pub gatherings, then Harry'd bumped into him a couple of times in Diagon Alley, and they'd gone for a drink together. That had graduated into a _planned_ dinner together, followed by another and another and several evenings at Harry's, working their way through the top 100 films that Draco had claimed he needed to see so as not to seem so clueless when working with Muggles.

Harry had started to miss Draco when he didn't see him for a few days and by the time Narcissa had contacted Harry about the portrait commission, claiming the portrait was a gift to herself for her fiftieth birthday, Harry knew he was done for.

::::

It was inevitable that the real Draco would appear through Harry's Floo the following morning just as Harry was enjoying a late breakfast of oat bagels and peanut butter in his pyjama bottoms. He'd just woken up after a near sleepless night that only saw him falling asleep around dawn.

"Where the hell have you been, Harry?" Draco said as soon as he saw Harry at the table, taking in the sight of his bare chest and rolling his eyes. "It's half past eleven in the morning. Why aren't you dressed?"

Harry, distracted by the sight of Draco in skin-tight black jeans that hugged his long legs and showed off the perfection of his backside, only managed, "Hmm?" He dragged his attention away to meet Draco's amused gaze. "It's Sunday morning and everyone knows it's the law that you don't have to get dressed before noon on a Sunday."

Draco made his way past Harry to the steaming coffee pot on the dresser. After snagging a mug from a hook, he poured some for himself and took the seat opposite Harry at the long table that still dominated Grimmauld kitchen despite Harry having renovated the rest of the house, dragging it into the current century.

"You're twenty-five, Harry. I'm pretty sure that the pyjamas till noon rule only applies to teenagers."

Harry shrugged, trying to appear casual as he became hyperaware of his near nakedness. "If the sight of my half naked body offends you, Malfoy—" And why the hell did he then have to draw further attention to it?

The amusement slipped from Draco's eyes. "It'd take a lot more than that to offend me," he said as he fiddled with the handle of his mug, fixing his attention on it instead of Harry. "Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all."

At Draco's sudden mood change Harry felt something curdle in his belly. He pushed away his breakfast. "I was _joking_, you know, ha ha, and I know you better than I did six months ago, which wasn't at all. That's how I know something's up. Are you going to tell me what it is or am I going to have to guess?"

Draco stared down at the kitchen table for what felt like ages before he said, "Nothing, I'm fine. I'm just apprehensive about my best man speech. Hermione told me that Muggles always make embarrassing jokes about the groom, and I can't think of anything that doesn't allude to how Blaise slept his way around most of Slytherin as well as a couple of Ravenclaws in sixth year or how—"

"Wait, did _you_ sleep with Blaise as well?" Harry didn't like that idea at all.

"I meant the _girls_…mostly anyway." Draco rolled his eyes. "That _thing_ that happened between him and Anthony Goldstein seemed to have been a one-off. Either way, not exactly an appropriate anecdote for a wedding, wouldn't you agree?"

"Can't you think of anything else? Surely he's made a fool of himself in other ways?"

"You've met Blaise, Harry. I'd go as far as to say you know him quite well now. He's sodding perfect."

Harry was inclined to agree. Blaise was one of those people who always looked perfect, could charm the Giant Squid from the lake and was calm and poised in any given situation. Except— "You were away at the time so you might not know this, but when he was courting Hermione and was sending her daily gifts she had no idea they were from Blaise, but _he_ thought he'd made it perfectly obvious. She thought they were from one of the fans of her column."

Draco's answering smile could've lit up the entire street. "Potter, you're not just a pretty face. You'll have to tell me all about that next weekend." He took a long sip of his coffee and sobered. "It seems Gryffindors are particularly clueless when it comes to courtship."

"Hey!"

Draco coughed. "Anyway, Mother wants to know what you're playing at with the portrait. She said you told her it was almost done and now you're delaying."

"It just needs some tweaking," Harry said hastily and jumped to his feet, clearing away his mug and plate. "It'll be ready soon."

Draco followed Harry's movement around to the kitchen sink with suspicious eyes. "Can I see it?"

"No!" he snapped, making a thing out of rinsing his mug out the Muggle way. Was it Harry's imagination or did his palms just get clammier? "I mean, not until it's ready."

"You haven't made me look fat have you?" Draco sounded genuinely concerned.

Harry couldn't stop laughing. "I'd have to be a pretty bad artist to manage that, wouldn't I? What with you being a supermodel and all."

Draco had the good grace to blush. "It's just a job."

"If you say so," Harry teased, happy to get off the subject of the portrait and into his comfort zone. "I suppose only coming third in that magazine's top 100 hottest men list must've hit you hard."

Muggles thought that the model Draco Black was mysterious and intriguing because no one knew much about him; he shunned the celebrity lifestyle that his popularity afforded him. Witches and some wizards knew who he really was, and he had quite a following regardless of his well-documented murky past.

"Sod off, Potter," Draco said, laughing now. "You're just jealous because I beat you to Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Batchelor."

"Yep, you've got me there. I'm devastated." The Most Eligible Batchelor had become a running joke between them. Harry had been number one until Draco's reappearance in Britain when he'd acquired an almost instant devoted fan base. "Hurry up and get married, would you, so I can claim my rightful place at the top!"

And at his own words Harry's new found good mood plummeted. "Anyway, tell your mother the portrait will be ready by Friday." He crossed his arms across his chest. "I'll see you tomorrow night at the Leaky?" It might be the last time he got to spend with Draco before he found out the truth about Harry's feelings for him.

"Not this week—I'm off to Paris for a couple of days on a shoot, back Thursday," Draco said, brows pulling together in confusion at Harry's abrupt change of conversation. "Why don't you join mother and me for lunch on Friday when you deliver the painting? I promised her we could try this new place in Marlborough."

"Um. Okay, why not?" Harry agreed. Anything to end the conversation and get Draco out of here before he said something he'd regret.

"Right, good. I'll see you at the Manor at noon on Friday then." Draco moved towards the fireplace before stopping and turning back to face Harry. "I'm glad I found you in one piece after this recent disappearing act, which you _will_ explain to me when I've got more time."

"I will. I promise," Harry said, not sure if he was telling the truth or not. "See you Friday. Have fun in Paris."

::::

It was Wednesday night before Harry had the courage to face portrait-Draco. He'd been over and over it in his head and could think of no way out other than to reason with him. To say he didn't want to ruin their friendship and could he please not tell real Draco that Harry fantasised about the curve of his arse and what it might feel like to have those long fingers wrapped around his cock.

Or, he could lock the portrait away and pretend that some terrible disaster had befallen it and say he'd have to start again. In that scenario though he'd be the bloke who had a portrait of the person he had feelings for secreted away somewhere, and that was all kinds of creepy and rather cruel to portrait-Draco who would be locked inside the same painting forever.

He took a deep breath before he pulled the sheet down and found that the painting's subject was pacing up and down behind the chaise with a furious expression on his face, body language screaming 'frustration'.

Of course, the silencing spell had long since worn off and the moment Draco saw him there he stopped still and exploded, "Where the hell have you been? I'm going crazy here, stuck in this tiny space without even the mess of your studio to distract me!"

Harry, despite his own apprehension, couldn't help but be impressed by how magnificent Draco looked when he was angry. Even as a portrait, so softer around the edges in some ways, it was clear why he'd been recruited into modelling by that Muggle agency. "I needed time to think," he said, backing away from the painting and sitting on the chair he kept near the easel for the times he needed to take a step back from whatever he was working on and look at it from another angle.

"Well, that's alright then, if you needed time to think!" Draco huffed, folding his arms and glaring down at Harry. "Don't mind me being trapped up here by myself, going out of my mind wondering if you were ever going to come back."

"Sorry about that."

"You can't take back what you said, you know." And there it was. In the back of his mind, Harry had hoped that perhaps Draco hadn't heard his confession after all.

"I don't plan to."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"Why do you think?" Harry met Draco's curious gaze head-on.

"How long?"

"Since I saw you again."

"Salazar, Harry, you really are an idiot." Draco's voice was gentler than Harry had ever heard it. "You're the most oblivious man I've ever known."

"Look, Draco— What do you mean I'm oblivious?"

"Why do you think I spend all of my spare time with you?"

"Draco, stop being so cryptic, would you? What are you trying to say?"

"These last few months—you and I—I've been _trying_ to court you!"

"You—I—what?" Harry's head was whirring, remembering Draco's words from the other day about clueless Gryffindors. "Fuck me."

"Well, I had been hoping that might happen eventually, or you me, I don't mind."

Harry gasped, the blood rushing to his cock at the imagery Draco's words created."Why didn't _you_ just _say_?"

"I—" Draco's cheeks flushed pink. "It could be that I didn't want to make a fool of myself and I didn't know how you felt, so…"

"So you're as bad as me?" Harry couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face as a heady rush of happiness spread through him.

Draco sat down on the chaise and said, "When can you put the real me out of his misery?"

"You're in Paris until tomorrow. We're having lunch with your mother on Friday and I'm handing this portrait over. I can't do it then."

"Tomorrow night," Draco said. "I always have a quiet night at home after a shoot. Why don't you Floo over about seven? I promise you, I'll want to hear what you have to say."

It was then that Harry remembered that Draco had brought a bloke to the pub last week. "You brought someone to the pub the other night. What if you've given up on me?"

Draco's brows drew together in confusion. "I did? What did he look like?"

Harry scowled. "Taller than you, long dark hair, tattoo of a leaf on his bicep."

Draco's confusion dissolved. "Oh, that's just Rolf. I've been wanting to introduce him to Luna. They're perfect for one another, if only I could get them into the same room."

"You can cross that off your list. Luna was there that night." Now Harry felt incredibly stupid. "I'll tell the real you how I feel," he said. "I promise."

:::

By the following night Harry was a bag of nerves. At a quarter past seven he fire-called Draco and asked if he could come over. He was invited straight through.

Draco was barefoot, wearing soft grey jeans and a V-neck navy jumper when Harry stumbled out of the fireplace. His hair was loose around his face and Harry's first thought was that he wanted Draco to come home to him every night looking like that.

"This is a surprise, Harry," Draco said, holding up a bottle of white wine. "Want a glass?"

"Yes, please," Harry said, moving his hands down his jeans nervously as he watched Draco pour the wine.

Draco stepped closer and handed Harry the glass. "Is everything alright, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry managed. "I wanted to— I want to—" He stopped and downed the contents of his glass before placing it forcefully on the nearest flat surface.

Draco was watching him in confusion, and Harry opened his mouth to say the words but nothing happened. Stuff it, he decided, stepping forward into Draco's space, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him in and kissing him hard on the mouth. Draco was still for a long moment before his arms went around Harry and he groaned, tracing the tip of his tongue along Harry's lips. After a passionate few minutes, the two of them pulled apart for air, green eyes meeting stormy grey as they struggled to find their breath.

"Can I ask something?" Draco rasped after a minute, his hands closing around Harry's wrists and his thumbs rubbing circles over the delicate skin there.

Harry nodded, hoping that he could find his voice to respond.

Draco leant in and kissed Harry again, then pulled back and said, "What took you so long?"

Harry smiled, thinking of the conversation with portrait-Draco from the previous evening. "I think it's more a case of what took _us_ so long. I'll explain later. I promise, but now—" He pressed the palm of his hand to Draco's crotch, "—there's something more pressing we need to deal with."

"No arguments here." Draco's hand moved to mirror Harry's and Harry's brief moment of coherency evaporated.

Tomorrow they would go to lunch with Narcissa. Harry would gift the portrait to her because if it hadn't been for that portrait he and Draco could have danced around one another forever.

First, though… First was tonight.


End file.
